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It's Dolly's Birthday
Chapter 9
Drummond throws a pity party; Cally rains it out...
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone And this house just ain't no home Anytime she goes away Anytime she goes away
"You really are pathetic." Callisto accused Drummond. She was standing at the kitchen phone, her hand still on the receiver, her back to him. But she knew he was sitting on the bench in the breakfast nook, his head in his hands, indulging in self-pity.
"I know," he said, his voice mere millimeters from cracking.
"How the hell could you...?" she rounded on him.
"You don't understand," his wail cut her off.
"No, I guess I don't. I'm not sure I want to. How can you claim to love her and still let those slimy bastards get away..."
He dropped his hands and turned toward her, spreading his arms wide in invitation. "OK," he said with a hard edge to his voice, "You have a gun. Go ahead and kill me. Put me out of your misery."
Callisto's blood ran cold. Or the air temperature in the room suddenly dropped thirty degrees, she wasn't sure which. She almost reached behind her for her Glock holstered under her belt in the small of her back, but she stopped herself, wondering how she could even think of responding to him like that. Nevertheless, her hostility toward what she saw as his pusillanimity remained undiminished.
The electric tension between them charged the entire room, making it impossible to breathe for several heartbeats. Then there was a polite knock at the door to the basement steps and one of the furnace repair guys stuck his head around the corner.
"All done," he announced cheerily, pushing his way into the kitchen and handing an aluminum forms case to Drummond. "You had a heavy silt buildup and a fried thermocouple. We got you all fixed up. You ought to bleed your pipes, though."
Drummond nodded absently, signing the forms where indicated. "Can you take a credit card?"
"Sure," the repairman said. "Visa, Master Card, American Express."
"Visa," Drummond said, fishing the card out of his wallet.
As the repairman wrote up the transaction, Drummond stared at the floor by the refrigerator. Callisto leaned her hips back against the counter on the opposite side of the room legs stiff in front of her, biting on her lower lip, her arms wrapped tight across her chest, looking anywhere but at Drummond.
The repairman must have sensed some of the tension between them, because he made some attempt at jocularity that fell predictably flat. He said his farewells and thanks and scurried back to the safety of the basement where he collected his confederate and left by the side door.
As the sound of the van's motor faded away around the bend in The Lane, Drummond sighed and pushed himself away from the table in the nook and shambled over to where the blonde enforcer was standing wrapped in her misery.
"Look, Cally," he said gently, taking her by the shoulders.
"No, you look," she shouted, shaking him off with a wide sweep of her arms, forcing him back across the room until he was cornered by the fridge. "You betrayed her! You betrayed us all! I hate you for that forever!"
"What was I supposed to do? Shoot her?" Drummond was astonished at Callisto's attitude and became instantly defensive on account of it.
"Maybe. Maybe a flesh wound in the leg or something would be better than... than... whatever they're doing to her."
"Cally, I... I can't. I can't hurt her in any way!" It sounded weak even to him.
"Oh, bullshit! Just... bullshit! I don't believe a fucking word of it! If you really loved her, you would never have let them get away. You would have gone after her with your bare hands..."
"And gotten her killed? I'm sorry, missy; there's very little that can't be cured in this world, but death is one of them. I'd rather see her in chains and alive than dead and free. At least in chains, there's a chance I can get her out."
"What a load of crap!!"
"You know, I don't really care what you think! I don't need your approval! But just so you know, in case it ever comes up again, I will always choose life over death!"
Callisto met his eye, her jaw set stubbornly, her fists clenched at her side. "Fine!" she shouted.
"Fine!" he shouted back.
"We have to meet the Trolls at Lunken!" Callisto informed him without lowering her voice at all.
"I'll meet the goddamned Trolls!" He matched her decibel for decibel. "You stay here and watch the fucking Meqs; you're so good at dealing with them." He stalked off up the back stairs, leaving her shaking with excess adrenaline. She stood panting for a few minutes then went out in the foyer. She slammed her booted foot into the nearest Meq prisoner and drew no small satisfaction from the agonized grunt her gratuitous cruelty elicited from the bound alien.
When Drummond came down the front stairs dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, and leather jacket, pulling on his gloves, she pointedly ignored him, turning her back until he had left, slamming the door behind him.
Callisto stalked across the foyer and sat on the second step. Her hands were shaking and she was shivering in the aftermath. Her argument with Drummond had wound her up more than any danger situation ever had, and she couldn't help wondering if she really did have the right of it.
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